


Choices

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Dad!Castiel, Dad!Dean, Domestic, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, False Memories, Family, Family Drama, Homophobia, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Recovered Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wakes up in an alternate suburban reality where the Winchesters were never hunters, Cas was never an angel, and practically everyone the Winchesters know and love is alive and well. Cas and Dean must make a choice about their futures and pasts, and the futures and pasts of everyone they know.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House

**Author's Note:**

> After writing this, I now have a deeper appreciation for all the writers out there who do AU fics with rich, believable settings and scenarios. Writing in the canon!verse is so easy by comparison (for me) because everything is already set up! I wonder if the writers who did episodes like "What Is and What Should Never Be" and "It's a Terrible Life" faced the same struggle I did of trying to write characters in-character in out-of-character situations (probably not because they're better writers than I am!).
> 
> Anyway... enough rambling. Onward to the fic!
> 
>  
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: January 2016**  
> 

“Dammit, Cas! I told you to be careful!” Cas doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that it’s Dean with one hand cupping his jaw while the other staunches blood from the back of Cas’ head with a rag, but he does anyway and blearily sees his hunter staring at him with concern.

“Dean, he’s going to be fine,” Sam says soothingly, and with just a tinge of exasperation; Cas turns his head slightly—a bad idea, in retrospect, as his vision blurs momentarily and he fights the urge to vomit—to see the younger Winchester looming over them.

“M’fine,” he mumbles, and is absently annoyed to see that Dean’s worry doesn’t lessen. “Jus’m’head. Gimme minute.”

“Yeah, not so fast. You’re slurring worse than a drunk sorority girl, Mr. Perfect Diction.”  Dean’s eyes travel over Cas’ body, obviously looking for other injuries, and he looks somewhat relieved when he finds none.

“C’mon, Dean, let’s get him back to the motel. He can rest up while we track down that last vamp.” Sam moves forward to help, and Cas considers for a moment brushing him aside, but sitting up makes the room spin and he clutches Dean’s jacket; in a flash, two sets of Winchester arms are helping him to his feet.

Back at the motel, the brothers settle Cas on the bed, and then of course argue about hunting down the last vampire; the leader of the nest had been parts elsewhere when they’d attacked, and they were not going to leave town without tracking the bastard down.

Sam wins the argument, while stitching up a gash on his leg—apparently he hadn’t even noticed how bad he was bleeding until the adrenaline had worn off back at the motel. Dean had emerged virtually unscathed, and so Sam says he’ll watch over Cas while Dean goes after the vampire. Dean, of course, balks at the idea of leaving Cas and Sam, but Sam is resolute and Cas is too out of it to argue.

“Fine. And don’t forget this,” Dean says, tossing Sam the bottle of cheap alcohol they use to clean out wounds. “Remember, if he falls asleep, you gotta wake him up every hour or two…”

“I got it, Dean! I do know how to take care of stitches and a concussion. Just go get the bastard already, ok?”

Dean looks like he’s going to argue, but instead he clenches his teeth before crossing back to the bed where Cas lies. Cas smiles weakly when Dean lowers his head down for a quick kiss, and the former angel squeezes the hunter’s hand.

“I’ll be back, all right?”

“We’ll be fine, Dean. Be safe,” Cas smiles tiredly, absently impressed with his regained control of the English language.

Dean nods and leaves, clapping Sam twice on the shoulder as he goes. Cas’ eyes droop closed, and he can hear Sam moving gingerly around the room. Just before he drifts off to sleep, he thinks he hears a familiar rustle, but his brain is too tired and beaten to care.

The darkness takes him gently.

 

** 

 

Cas smiles as he returns to consciousness, sunlight warming his face, and his head feeling surprisingly clear—except for normal morning grogginess. He lies there for a moment, eyes still closed, enjoying the peace and comfort of the bed. He can feel Dean’s weight on the mattress next to him shift as the man rolls over and throws an arm around Cas’ waist. An alarm blares, and Cas’ eyes flash open. _This isn’t right._

Dean groans and rolls back over to his side, ham-handedly turning off the alarm. Cas sits up and takes in a sharp breath. This isn’t the motel, and it isn’t the bunker. They’re in a nice, medium-sized bedroom with blue-grey walls and bright white trim. Dark wood furniture—two dressers, the bed, and the nightstands—take up most of the space in the room, but it doesn’t feel cramped. Cas turns back to Dean in a panic, which doesn’t lessen when he sees Dean grinning sleepily like this is all completely normal.

“You ok, Cas?” Dean asks, but doesn’t really wait for an answer. “C’mon, I’ll get breakfast going if you get Claire and Ben.”

“Um, Dean…?” Cas begins, but before he can finish, a small blonde girl hurtles into the room and throws herself at the bed, giggling. In what looks like a practiced motion, Dean sweeps the girl up and tosses her into the bed between them, laughing and fake-roaring as he tickles her.

“Stop it, Papa!” she pants in between peals of near-shrieking laughter. Even though he is utterly perplexed by the whole situation, Cas can’t help but smile. Despite all of Dean’s hard edges—at least the Dean he knows—this is who the man really is (and could have, should have, been) under it all.

“You know the rules: Tickle Monsters can only be defeated with a kiss,” Dean teases, although he pauses long enough for the girl to grasp around his neck and plant a messy kiss on his cheek. Cas gets a good enough look at her face this time and realizes with a start that this is _Claire_ , except she must be only three years old, give or take. “Ok, ok,” Dean concedes, “you beat the bad guy. Now go give Dad a kiss and we’ll go make breakfast, k, kiddo?”

Claire squeals delightedly and climbs over the bed to Cas, who reacts just in time to grab her as she jumps on his lap and plants an equally messy kiss on his own cheek. Instinctually, he hugs her tight until she squirms out of his grasp and back into the arms of Dean, who picks her up and moves to the door, the two of them debating what to make for breakfast: Claire advocates strongly for pancakes, but Dean wins, claiming pancakes are for the weekend and that if they make cheesy scrambled eggs, he’ll let her help crack the eggs and use the whisk.

Cas is still sitting in the bed in shock, frantically trying to piece together what is going on. _Is it a djinn? Am I dreaming? Am I dead?_ But he and Dean and Sam weren’t hunting a djinn when he fell asleep, they were hunting vampires…unless his memory is more messed up than he realizes. And if this is a dream, then it is the most realistic dream he’s ever had. And if he’s dead and this is Heaven—and Cas wonders if Heaven is even where he is headed when he dies—why isn’t he reliving his best memories?

Before he can give the situation more thought, he hears muffled cries and gabbing over what appears to be a baby monitor on the nightstand on Dean’s side of the bed. _Ben. Dean said to get Ben and Claire ready…_ Cas’ heart sinks. His only experience taking care of what sounds to be a very young child is his time babysitting Tanya, and even though he had muddled through the evening with some success until the Rit Zien appeared, it was Dean who had showed him how to calm the girl and take her fever down with infant Tylenol. All in all, Cas wouldn’t consider that night one of his best examples of parenting (though the memories of Dean rocking Tanya to sleep before handing her back to him and the fresh smell of her hair as she nestled into his chest had comforted Cas through many lonely nights in the backroom of the Gas-n-Sip).

In any case, until he can figure out what exactly is going on, Cas can’t ignore Ben’s cries, so he pads down the hallway. The first door he passes is open, revealing a well-lit room that must be Claire’s: bright teal curtains, an eclectic assortment of toys ranging from dolls to cars (Cas smiles to see one that looks remarkably like the Impala), and a child-sized bed with a teal comforter to match the curtains. Across the hall is a bathroom, then the stairs with a child-gate locked securely, then a closed door. Cas opens it slowly and finds a toddler in a crib, standing up by holding onto the vertical slats and looking through the bars like he’s just been sentenced to life. Luckily the boy’s face lights up when he sees Cas and he exclaims, “Da!” while bouncing slightly on his toes.

“Hello, Ben,” he greets the child, then picks him up, his stomach sinking this time when he realizes Ben needs a change of diaper. Ben doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he just babbles happily in Cas’ arms, a tiny fist balled up in the neckline of Cas’ t-shirt. Cas looks around the room, hoping the changing supplies are easy to find. “Ok, Ben, let’s get you ready for the day.”

Ten minutes or so later, Cas has a reasonably dressed toddler in his arms and has made his way down to the kitchen where Claire is kneeling on a tall pub-chair at the island, messily eating scrambled eggs. Cas estimates only two-thirds of the eggs are actually making it into her mouth. Dean’s pouring a couple cups of coffee and Cas deposits Ben into a high chair by the kitchen table where there’s already Cheerios, fruit, and a sippy cup of milk on the tray. Dean hands him his coffee with a swift peck on the lips, then pulls his plate of eggs over, electing to eat while standing, leaning on the island on his elbows and forearms while flipping through a picture book with Claire. Cas takes his plate and mug to the table and eats with Ben, keeping an eye on the food dropped into the boy's lap, and quietly working through his own breakfast.

Dean seems completely at home here and completely unaware that anything is amiss; whatever reality Cas is now living in, this is _real_ for Dean. Cas looks around the room and can’t see any indication of a hunter’s life—the only salt seems to be in the small mill at the center table next to the pepper, there are no Devil’s Traps painted discreetly around the door or on the ceilings, the only knick-knacks on the shelves in the living room are of a decidedly “civilian” nature. So if this Dean is not a hunter, then this reality’s Cas was never an angel; he was always a human.

“You’re quiet, Cas,” Dean says after Claire has scampered off into the living room, Dean warning her that as soon as he’s done cleaning up, he’s taking her upstairs to get dressed. “Worried about that meeting yesterday?”

 _Meeting?_ Not wanting to give away his confusion, Cas takes the easy way out. “Yes. Sorry, Dean. A lot on my mind.”

Dean wipes his hands on a towel, goes over to Ben, and starts cleaning the boy’s face and hands before pulling him up out of the chair. “I’m sure it went fine, man. Don’t stress, it’ll all work out.” Dean bounces Ben on his hip, and puts a hand reassuringly on Cas’ shoulder. “I’ll take Claire and Ben up and get Claire changed if you want to hit the shower first. Oh, and Dad said your car needs another day—he’s waiting on a part—so I’m dropping you off again at work.”

Cas nods absently, inwardly panicking at what work he might be expected to perform. Other than working at the Gas-n-Sip, Cas has no experience with a normal human job, and judging by this house, he doubts the Cas of this world works for minimum wage—unless of course Dean’s job, whatever that may be, pays far more.

Dean notices the expression on Cas’ face, but interprets it incorrectly. “Yeah, yeah, Cas, I know. I’d fix up your car if I had the time, but this project’s deadline is Monday. Plus, Mom says Dad needs something to keep him busy—or outta her hair I’m guessing. Semi-retirement’s just not his thing.”

Cas’ eyes widen as he finally registers part of what Dean is saying. _Dad? Mom? Are John and Mary alive in this world?_ He struggles to recover. “It’s fine, Dean. I understand. I’ll, uh, I’ll go shower so we can leave soon.”

Not that Cas has any intention of actually going to work. But, a shower does sound nice. Maybe the hot water will wash away the confusion and give him some idea of just what the hell is going on…and how he’s going to survive in this life he knows nothing about if he’s stuck here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I broke some unspoken Destiel kid fic code by having Dean be "Papa" and Cas be "Dad" because I've only ever seen it the other way around. But to me, "Papa" has always seemed so much more...uniquely familiar and human (and who better represents humanity than Dean Winchester?), whereas "Dad" is so standard (but, for someone like Cas, is incredibly informal and human, and therefore meaningful and symbolic in its own way to a former angel). Plus, I have a headcanon that Dean wouldn't want to go by "Dad" because he has enough fears about turning into John, whom he called "Dad", so going by "Papa" is his way of being his own man. (Also along that vein, Cas has only ever called God "Father" -- I think Gabriel's the only one who's ever called him "Dad" -- so Cas does not have any negative personal connotations with "Dad", though he probably would with "Father".)


	2. Routines and Visions

As soon as he hears the bedroom door open again and Cas start to make his way back downstairs, Dean hauls himself up from the living room floor where he has been leaning against the couch while Claire tries to explain to him all of the rules of her princess kingdom (apparently, only the princess gets to slay the dragons, a rule that makes Dean smirk and proudly exclaim “That’s my girl!”), and Ben plays with—read: bashes together—plastic farm animals.

It’s unusual for Cas to take so long getting ready in the morning, so Dean hurries towards the stairs knowing he’ll have to whip through his morning routine. He meets Cas in the hallway, his partner now out of his sweatpants and t-shirt and into a nice pair of dark jeans and a plain white button-down shirt (Dean tries very hard not to get sidetracked by how fucking hot Cas looks in that outfit with his hair slightly messy from toweling off). But something in Cas’ eyes is…off.

“You feeling ok, Cas? You’ve been out of it all morning,” Dean wonders with his hands on Cas’ waist, his eyes studying the other man’s face. “If you’re not feeling good, you should take the day off. Give yourself a nice three day weekend.”

Cas’ eyes light up like Dean just came up with some earth-shattering breakthrough. “You’re right, Dean. I haven’t been feeling well today. Perhaps I should stay home.”

“Yeah. Call Hannah and tell her you won’t be in. Grab a nap, see if you can get some work done from home later if you’re up to it. I’ll take the kids to preschool and daycare so you have some quiet.”

“Good idea. I’ll call…Hannah,” Cas agrees, almost as if he is trying the idea out in his head and finding he likes it. It’s odd, but Dean’s long accepted that Cas has some odd quirks.

“K, kids are in the living room. Beware—Princess Claire is in a dragon-killing mood,” Dean laughs, kisses Cas, and heads upstairs.

While he waits for the water in the shower to heat back up, Dean studies his tattoos in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide where to get the next one. Currently, he has two, and he already has the third sketched out.

His first tattoo is Castiel’s name in Enochian on the inside of his right forearm. The tattoo is actually partly coverage for a scar he got when he and Cas were working at a pretty horrific car accident—Dean volunteers as a local firefighter for few shifts every month, Cas as an EMT—and after injuring himself, Cas happened to be the EMT who treated the wound. The rest, as they say, was history. Dean had had no idea what Enochian was until Cas had told him about the origins of his name. When they bought the house, Dean had gone the next day and gotten the tattoo to cover the ugly red L-shaped scar. The second tattoo he got not long after Claire turned one: a sunburst with a star in the middle over his heart, right next to the black and silver feather pendant necklace Cas had given him. Claire’s name was purposefully chosen: she was—and is—the light and brightness in their lives. What better way to represent that than a sun and star?

And now it’s time for a tattoo for Ben. This one had been more difficult to design because the tattoo would carry double the weight. Ben had been named for Benny, Dean’s best friend—really, he had been more like a brother—who had died just before Ben was born. Dean had found a translation of the name Benjamin that meant “son of the South,” which seemed perfect, given Benny’s Louisiana roots. Dean had sketched a compass pointing south with two dates inscribed around the edges: the day Benny died and the day Ben was born. The circle of life, minus Elton John. Dean turns in the mirror, reaffirming his decision to put the tattoo on the back of his right shoulder; Benny had always had Dean’s back, and now it’s his turn to always have his son’s back.

Before getting into the shower, he absently traces Cas’ tattoo, faintly feeling the raised lines under the ink from the scar. His body hums pleasantly, but the air around him shimmers and his eyesight goes momentarily fuzzy. He stops rubbing the tattoo, rubbing his eyes instead. He shakes his head to clear it and decides he either needs to up his caffeine intake in the morning or cut back on it.

Twenty minutes later—and even Dean’s impressed by this—he is dressed, packed for the day, and the kids are strapped into carseats in the Impala (and Dean wonders—and he can’t believe he’s even fucking considering this—if maybe he should get a more kid-friendly car and save Baby for when it’s just the adults).

Cas ducks back out from the backseat where he’d been strapping in a very giggly Claire and Dean’s stomach does that flippy-thing it always does whenever he sees what he secretly calls Cas’ “dad smile.”

The guy still looks a little lost and distant, but Dean’s glad to see the kids don’t notice—no need for them to worry. It’s been a long week for them both with a lot going on at their respective jobs; Dean figures it’s Cas’ turn to check out a bit after that beast of a presentation he had to give yesterday, and then when his own project deadline on Monday hits, he and Cas can trade places.

“Take it easy today, ok?” Dean says to Cas as they kiss goodbye in the driveway.

“I will, Dean. Just, uh, need to clear my head. Have a good day.”

“You, too. Love you,” Dean says with another kiss, absently registering the mild look of surprise in Cas’ blue eyes, as if it’s fucking news to him that Dean loves him. _What a sap_ , he smirks to himself as he climbs in behind the wheel. “Ok, kiddos, wave bye to Dad!”

Looking in the rearview mirror, he smiles to see Claire wave and try to get Ben to blow Cas a kiss, which ends up being an only partially successful endeavor, despite Claire’s best efforts and encouragements.

Even with the busy day ahead of him at work, Dean’s in a pretty good mood as he drives the kids to the childcare center where Claire goes to preschool and Ben goes to daycare. He waves to their neighbor from up the street, Linda Tran, as he passes her walking the dog, and he reminds himself to ask her how her son, Kevin, is doing at Princeton the next time he sees her. He drops the kids off with Garth at the childcare center; Garth’s kind of a weird dude and Dean was definitely skeptical when the guy pulled out a sock puppet to coax Claire out of her shell on her first day, but for whatever reason it had worked, and Garth really is good with the kids.

When he finally strolls into the lobby of the engineering firm he works for, Dean is immediately greeted with a familiar, “What up, nerd?”

“Morning to you, too, Your Highness,” Dean grins at Charlie, who offers him a chocolate glazed donut hole. “Fanks,” he mumbles around the mouthful of pastry.

“Classy, Winchester,” Charlie rolls her eyes with a smile.

They make their way to the elevators, already engrossed in shoptalk. Dean might prefer the gears, wheels, and wires of engineering, but having a close friend who’s a genius at programming has made them a pretty unstoppable team in the company. Even though they only met a few years ago when Charlie moved to town, Dean thinks of her as another little sister he never wanted, but he’s now glad he has (Jo also fits that bill). If there’s anything Dean has learned over the years, it’s that more family, no matter where it comes from, is a good thing. And it doesn’t hurt that Charlie fits in perfectly with Cas, Sam, and Jess—and Jo, when she’s in town.

The day passes pretty quickly—meetings, organizing his team, fighting fires (figuratively, for a change), trying to patiently explain to the Powers That Be why their plan for the project is just _wrong_ without coming across as a total dick (he’s not sure he’s entirely successful, but dammit the guys upstairs just don’t _get it_ sometimes)—and so he nearly forgets to text Cas at lunch to check in on him. His partner doesn’t respond, but Dean figures he’s just napping or busy; he’ll check in again later.

Before he leaves for the evening, he swings by the sixth floor, says hi to his other programming buddy, Ash, and then stops by Charlie’s cubicle where the redhead’s fingers are flying across the keyboard. Dean knows better than to interrupt her when she’s hacking the Matrix, so he just grabs a chair from the empty cubicle next to hers, wheeling it over and spinning slightly back and forth as he waits (like anyone can sit still in a wheely, spinny chair with nothing else to do).

“Shouldn’t you be grabbing the munchkins?” Charlie asks, finally having come up for air.

“Got a few minutes before I gotta leave. Wanted to know what you’re up to tomorrow night. My parents are taking Ben and Claire, Sam’s gonna come over—Jess is visiting her parents with the twins and doing baby stuff with her mom—so we’re all kid-free and Cas has been bugging me to get the grill going.”

“Only if I can bring margaritas,” Charlie grins. “You guys got a blender or a cocktail shaker?”

“Of course. What kind of barbarians do you think we are?” Dean scoffs in mock indignation. “Margaritas are it, though—no girly chick drinks. Tequila and limes are as far down that path as I’m willing to go.”

“Whatever you say, handmaiden. But one of these days, you will realize you are missing out on a whole world of fruity, boozy, deliciousness. Broaden your horizons, dude.”

Dean snorts and ruffles Charlie’s hair as he gets up, causing her to squawk indignantly and earning him a swat on the arm. Her hand brushes against the exposed skin of his forearm beneath his rolled sleeves, and as her fingers meet his tattoo, his world spins again, just like in the bathroom this morning. Suddenly, he gets a flash of a vision of Charlie—but not like he’s ever seen her before—wearing a black eyepatch and calmly mowing down zombies with a machine gun. He sways on his feet as the image clears.

“Hey, man, you ok?” Charlie asks, concerned.

“Uh, yeah…just, uh…got up too fast. I’m good,” he lies, shaking his head. _What the fuck was that?_

“You sure? Get some water before you head out.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Thanks, Charlie,” he says, trying to refocus. “So, uh, come over around six tomorrow?”

“Sounds good! Later, dude. Oh and give the kiddos a squeeze from Aunt Charlie, k?”

“Will do. See ya.” Dean walks slowly back to the elevators, the base of his palm rubbing an eye. _Maybe I’m coming down with something_ , he thinks before inwardly groaning when he remembers that Cas is also feeling off today. _Shit, if we both caught something, Ben and Claire are gonna catch it, too._ And two sick kids is _not_ something he wants to go through, especially if he and Cas are laid up as well. _Gonna be a fun time in the Novak-Winchester household…_


	3. Snooping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up for this fic (from this chapter forward): some of the Dean and Cas chapters overlap, so certain things might be repeated as they're told from two POVs.

“Take it easy today, ok?” Dean says, concern evident in his green eyes, as he leans in to press a chaste kiss on Cas’ lips.

Cas can barely process how _normal_ and _casual_ and _easy_ this all seems. Since when have the Winchesters ever had any of these things? His brain momentarily freezes as they kiss, but he manages to stumble out a suitable response. “I will, Dean. Just, uh, need to clear my head. Have a good day.”

“You, too. Love you.”

_Love you._

The words roll off Dean’s tongue like they’re the most obvious words he’s ever spoken. They come to him as easy as breathing.

Cas’ Dean has never said those words lightly to Cas. In fact, he’s only heard them twice.

The first time was the first night they truly spent together once Cas woke up from giving his Grace to the Mark of Cain and falling, an unintentional confession from Cas prompting one from Dean. The second was when they had exchanged necklaces the week before Christmas; Cas had been relieved this morning to discover the key pendant is still a part of this reality, having become extremely attached to the simple necklace and all it implies. He understands now why Dean was so reluctant to relinquish the amulet Sam gave him (an amulet that he suspects Sam has hidden away among his belongings, rescued from the trash); the necklace has become as much a part of him as this body.

It isn’t as though Cas doubts Dean’s love, despite his reluctance to say it so literally. His Dean has always been more of the Han Solo persuasion when it comes to declarations of love (and yes, Cas does understand that reference). This Dean, it seems, loves more freely and openly. This Dean, he would assume, hasn’t felt the constant fear that his love is a curse, a kiss of death.

Cas’ heart breaks for his Dean.

He manages to recover and school his face when he hears Dean tell the children to wish him goodbye, and it’s impossible not to smile happily and proudly as he watches Claire try to teach Ben how to blow a kiss. He waves and blows a kiss to them; it’s a strange human gesture, and he’s not even sure where he learned it, but he finds it sweet and endearing, even if like so many other human gestures, it makes no logical sense.

Cas watches Dean steer the Impala out of the driveway and down the road, only heading back into the house when he can no longer see the car. In the foyer, he pulls out the phone he had found on what he assumes is his nightstand, and thumbs it unlocked. He gives a half-grin when he realizes the four-digit password is 0124—Dean’s birthday—which he guesses correctly on the first try. Apparently even this world’s Cas is just as hopeless as he is. He scrolls through the contacts until he finds a ‘Hannah’, then nervously presses call.

“Hello, Castiel,” Hannah greets in the voice of Caroline.

“Hello, Hannah. I just wanted to tell you I’m not feeling well and will not be coming into work today,” Cas informs her, hoping this is enough information to get by.

“I understand. When you return on Monday, we'll begin on your proposal: I received word that the board approved it after your presentation yesterday,” Hannah adds with a hint of warmth in her voice.

“Oh, that’s great. I’ll…uh…make sure I’m prepared to get started on that this weekend. Thank you, Hannah. Have a nice day.”

“You, too, Castiel. I hope you feel better.” They mutually hang up, and Cas tucks his phone back into his pocket.

Figuring he can use the day to try and get some sense of what kind of world he is now living in, he goes right into the living room, having already scoped out much of the bedroom while he was ostensibly getting dressed. It had been fairly easy to figure out what was his and what was Dean’s in the bedroom: the first drawer he opened had had several faded band t-shirts on top, and so he had quickly assumed the other dresser was his. Cas had found it interesting that in this reality, Cas wears far less plaid, and his drawers and side of the closet have more bright, but solid colored, tailored shirts, and the jeans are of a higher quality for fashion than functionality. Dean’s wardrobe is essentially the same, though with more “business casual” clothing thrown into the mix.

There hadn’t been much else in the bedroom to give him much insight into their lives: the room was neat, organized, and seemed devoted solely to sleep and clothing. This, Cas reflects, is just another glaring difference between his Dean and this Dean: his Dean loves his room in the bunker and takes such pride in making it his own—well, theirs, now—after so many years of never having any space to make personal; this Dean clearly feels no such need to stake out a private sanctuary when he has an entire house to call his own; and, he presumably never lost his childhood home, if the morning’s conversation about Mary and John is true.

Cas had made a cursory survey of the living room while watching Claire and Ben, but the children had claimed much of his attention—and rightfully so. While Ben is still too young for Cas to truly glimpse the teen he knows (although even at such a young age, it is clear the boy is Dean’s child), Claire is bright, energetic, and very self-assured—precocious, even—and it is no strain to the imagination to picture the strong-willed young woman he has grown to love back in his reality.

Now, though, the living room is quiet, and Cas almost misses the commotion of earlier. He puts a few rogue toys into the large wicker basket by the bookcase set there for precisely this purpose, then begins to peruse the framed photos on the shelves and walls.

Many of the photos are of Dean, Cas, Ben, and Claire, and Cas’ heart twinges as he watches the family grow in each picture. His favorite is a candid picture of Dean holding an infant Ben, both of them wearing the same wide-eyed smile while Claire leans forward towards the baby from Cas’ lap, her expression clearly one of “ok, the baby’s cute and all I guess, but now what do we do with it?” Cas looks like he’s on the verge of laughing softly as he holds the girl from falling off his knees.

The other pictures are even more telling. Sam and Jess’ wedding; they look fresh out of college. John and Mary holding Ben, Claire, and two twin boys who look to be a year or two older than Claire. Ellen and Bobby’s wedding that must have been only a few years ago; the happy couple is flanked by Jo, Sam, Jess, Dean, Cas, John, and Mary. Dean and Cas with Jody Mills, apparently representing the fire, ambulance, and police departments, respectively. Dean, Sam, and Charlie in LARPing attire. A teenage Dean leaning against the Impala with someone who can only be a teenage Benny. Sam and Jess with the twin boys. Dean and Sam at Sam’s Stanford graduation.

After so many years of seeing the heartache of the Winchesters, Cas is gladdened to see the family whole. What strikes Cas, though, as he stands back from the pictures finally—although his eyes continually flick back to his favorites—is that there are no photos of Cas beyond those of him with the Winchesters (blood relations or otherwise). He wonders who this Cas’ family is and where he came from…and why there’s no record of them.

Not that he really minds. The Winchesters have proven themselves as family more than the Heavenly Host back home. Back home, the Winchesters _are_ home. But, he is curious nonetheless about this world.

He makes his way into the home office, where he finds two desks and so much more. Diplomas from Kansas State University granting Dean Bachelors and Masters degrees in Engineering, _cum laude_. Diplomas from Cornell University also granting Bachelors and Masters degrees but in Environmental Sciences…to Castiel James Novak.

The calligraphied name hits him in the gut. Now, Cas is positive this isn’t Heaven or a wishful djinn dream: Cas would never disrespect Jimmy by appropriating his identity in such an oblique, dismissive way. He had hated the brief time before Claire turned eighteen when he had had to pose as Jimmy; he certainly wouldn’t include that detail in his ideal universe.

In a fireproof lockbox tucked between the wall and a small filing cabinet—he’d found a small key on a magnet hanging inside one of the drawers—Cas unearths paperwork that hits him just as hard as the diplomas: surrogacy paperwork naming Amelia and Lisa as Claire and Ben’s birthmothers, respectively. The neatly typed names on the forms burn into him. Not that he has any disrespect for surrogates—although he has had little experience in the matter, Cas cannot help but value and marvel at the selflessness and kindness of these women who help couples bring new life into their families—but the Amelia and Lisa of his world are integral parts of their children’s identities. To see them listed so clinically seems an insult.

Unsettled, Cas returns to the living room, but he pauses to take comfort in the photos once more. He picks up his favorite and suddenly his vision is blinded with light and he falls to the ground as sights and sounds and touches flood into his brain.

_“Ta-da! Look, it’s Dad and big sister Claire!” Dean exclaims with a wide smile, bouncing Ben on his lap. The boys burbles and mirrors Dean’s expression._

_“Careful, Claire,” Cas whispers softly as the girl leans precariously forward on his knees._

Click.  _C_ _as looks up to see Jess smile at the screen of her phone. Unconsciously, she rubs her hand over her middle; she is just starting to show her second pregnancy. “Wanna see?” she asks, holding out the phone._

_Cas takes the phone, one hand wrapped around Claire’s waist, and studies the picture, his mouth curving up in a smile. Claire—truly a modern child—is immediately distracted away from her baby brother by the prospect of playing with the device. She grabs at the phone with a chubby hand, and Cas looks to Jess, who just shrugs._

_“The boys are always messing with my phone. Don’t worry—it’s kid-proof.”_

_Together, Cas and Claire hold the phone and Claire happily points to each of them on the screen in turn. “Papa, Benben, Dad, me!” she announces proudly. “Papa, look!” Claire forces the phone towards Dean who takes it and studies the picture with Ben._

_“Well, guess I can’t deny you're mine now, kiddo,” Dean snickers, then plants a kiss on the top of Ben’s head as he hands the phone back to Jess. “Do me a favor and send that one to me, k?”_

_“Sure,” Jess agrees._

Cas’ head pounds as he lifts himself up to a kneeling position. The memory is so real, even though he knows it didn’t actually happen—not to him, at least. He can’t decide if he should be worried or not that he wishes the memory were true, despite the physical pain he feels at the moment. Impulsively, he reaches out to touch another of the photos when he hears an all-too familiar rustle behind him.

Angel wings.

Dimly, his brain reminds him that he heard the same sound just before falling asleep in the motel room back in his reality.

“Cassie! How’s it going, little bro?” a smugly cheerful voice greets him as he turns around.

“Gabriel?” Cas’ eyes widen in shock as he finds the archangel. “How—how are you here? I thought you were dead and that last I saw you was just a figment of Metatron’s imagination.”

The archangel just gives him a smirk. “Oh c’mon, you really think Metatron has any real power over me, even when he was moonlighting as Dad?”

“I don’t understand.”

“For all Metatron claims to be the master of stories, he always seems to forget a key part: it’s much harder to get rid of what you create. He wrote me back into the story, but deleting me’s tricky—and I’m a Trickster.” The archangel drops his voice dramatically. “Beneath this mask is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea, Mr. Castiel, and ideas are bulletproof.”

“So are angels,” Cas comments, utterly confused. If this is a pop-culture reference, then it must be from something Metratron never saw or read before his knowledge transfer to Cas.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Ok, definitely got a bone to pick with Deano if you didn’t get that reference. Doesn’t that guy live and breathe movie quotes? Dude’s slacking in your education, Cas.”

“What do you want, Gabriel? Why am I here? What is this place?” Cas demands, exasperated.

“It’s home, Cas. Just what you wanted. And before you ask, yes, that’s really Dean and Sam and Ben and Claire and everyone else. This isn’t some alternate universe. It’s the real world, kiddo. Just…altered. They’re altered.”

“Why? And why am I the only one who remembers the true past?”

“Both _excellent_ questions, neither of which I plan on answering.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Hellooooo. Have you met me?” Gabriel sing-songs. “Tell ya what. I’ll come back after the weekend and we’ll chat again, sound good?”

“No! I want to know what this is! I want to go back to the way things were!” Cas’ fists ball up angrily by his sides.

“Do you, Cas? Do you? Think about it.”

And with another rustle of wings, Gabriel disappears.


	4. Crazy

Friday night passes like just about every other Friday night in the Novak-Winchester household: Dean picks up the kids after work, he calls Cas to let him know they’re on their way home and so he should order pizza, then it’s a whirlwind of dinner, play-time, bath-time, bed-time, and finally daddies-get-some-us-time (translation: they both fall asleep on the couch about halfway through a movie that blessedly isn't animated or G-rated).

Cas still seems like he isn't 100% or that there is something heavy on his mind, but Dean is relieved to see his partner brighten up around the kiddos and then curl up comfortably under his arm on the couch once they put both children to bed...and after Claire’s small voice comes over the monitor saying she has to go to potty _now_ (because of course she hadn’t had to go ten minutes ago when they’d made her at least try before going to bed). Whatever is bugging Cas, Dean is sure he’ll work it out eventually, and while he knows better than to pry, he hopes Cas will come to him if he needs someone to talk to about it.

Dean still isn’t sure what’s up with himself either, but he chalks up the bizarro Charlie vision he saw as a memory of a dream. It would be just like him to have a dream about Charlie being a badass killing zombies (and he hopes he was just as badass in the dream, too); the girl may be a total computer nerd, but she ain’t the Queen of Moondoor and an honorary Winchester for nothing.

Feeling well-rested Saturday morning, Dean ambles out of bed and goes downstairs to find Cas already awake and reading to Claire and Ben in the living room, all still in their pjs. Ben is on Cas’ lap and he keeps trying to turn the pages before Cas is finished reading, and Claire is kneeling beside her Dad under his arm, chanting along to the familiar story.

“‘Wheee!’ said D to E F G, ‘I’ll beat you to the top of the coconut—’” Cas rumbles in that peculiar voice of his that always makes Dean laugh a little when he hears him read children’s books.

“TREE!” Claire exclaims.

“Chicka chicka—”

“BOOM BOOM!”

“Bmmmmmmmmm!” Ben echoes to the best of his ability.

Dean stands in the doorway to the room, letting the moment sink in. He wishes he hadn’t left his phone upstairs because he would love to film this and save it, but he did, so he pays extra close attention so it’s branded into his memory. Cas looks up from the page and gives him a smile, but they both wait until the story is over to greet each other.

As he watches his little family, he remembers the moment he  _knew_ , without a doubt, that he wanted this for himself. Dean had always liked kids, but had always doubted he'd be a good father, and, of course, being with Cas meant that they couldn't just have a kid the ol' fashioned way. But, it was seeing Sam with the twins that brought it all home for him, had made him start looking into adoption and surrogacy. He and Cas had shown up at Sam and Jess' house with the promise of babysitting to give the new parents a night off, but when they got there, Sam and Jess were both asleep on the couch, a tiny infant snuggled onto each of their chests. Jess' hair was in a messy bun, Sam's hair was just messy, and both were wearing loose t-shirts and jeans. Sam was tucked into the corner of the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, one arm looped around Jess' shoulders, who rested her head in his lap, and his other arm nearly dwarfing one of his sons as he cradled the baby to his chest. Each boy had a fist tucked up under his chin, and each baby rose and fell gently with his parent's steady breathing. Seeing them together (tired as they may be), seeing his baby brother with babies of his own, seeing them as a  _family,_ had made something in Dean's heart clench in longing.  _  
_

Claire bounds off the couch when Cas gets to the end, gives Dean a hug around his knees and gets her hair ruffled, then runs over to the toy basket and starts digging out her favorites. Cas sets Ben on the carpet next to the scattered blocks, then walks over and plants an eager kiss on Dean’s lips.

“Good morning to you, too,” Dean smirks. “Feeling better? You were kind of tossing and turning a lot last night.”

“I believe so. I was just thinking a lot.” Cas looks back at the children and watches for a moment. “Just truly appreciating what we have here,” he adds earnestly and, Dean swears, almost wistfully. Dean wonders if this has anything to do with Cas’ own upbringing—he and his family had had a major falling out, and so Cas sometimes clings strongly to the new family he has created with Dean and Dean’s family and friends.

Dean loops a hand around Cas’ waist and they both enjoy their little life of domesticity for a few minutes. A thought occurs to Dean, one that has been rattling around ever since Ben turned one, and especially since Jess’ due date comes closer and closer.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you thought…I dunno…maybe one more?” Dean holds his breath, wondering what his partner will say.

Cas looks at him, his eyes wide, and his expression is hard to decipher. “Another child?” Cas asks slowly.

“Well, yeah, you know…Sam and Jess are going for three and I can’t have my little brother showing me up,” Dean stammers jokingly, but he knows Cas will see right through it; this is about far more than brotherly competition. Dean sighs. “I guess I just feel like we’re missing someone. I don’t know why, but I just can’t let the idea go. I even know what I’d name her.”

“Her?” Cas’ head tilts slightly.

Dean wishes he could explain it, but somehow he just knows if they had a third kid, it’d be a girl. “Yeah. Emma.”

Cas’ expression softens and a flash of emotions cross his face. Before Dean can even begin to puzzle them out, his partner presses a kiss to his lips and Dean takes the embrace as the only answer he needs for now.

As they pull apart—they do have children to watch after all—Cas’ hand drifts down his arm and suddenly Dean stumbles back as images cloud his vision.

_The forest is muted and dense. Around him, he can hear the growls and roars of beasts he has no desire to meet, but he knows they will come for him. Below him is the prone figure of a woman, hacked and bloody, and in his hand is the brutal blade that did the deed._

_He hears footsteps behind him, and he straightens and turns in a fluid motion, bringing up the blade and slicing through the Amazon’s neck without any hesitation. To his right, he can see Benny pulling his own blade from the body of another attacker. Between them, a younger Amazon moves forward, a snarl on her face. She has dirty blonde hair and that teenager thinness, and if this wasn’t Purgatory, she wouldn’t look out of place at the mall or in a high school classroom. She is rushing towards him and he raises his blade before they lock eyes and dawning clears both of their expressions._

_Emma._

_She hesitates for only a fraction of a second, her eyes wide, and Dean’s mouth is about to open when Benny’s blade severs her head from her neck._

_And he loses her again._

“Dean?!” Cas’ voice is laced with worry, and Dean can feel Cas’ hands gripping his upper arms tightly. He shakes his head to clear it. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Cas’ blue eyes are boring into him when his vision clears, and Dean wonders if this is what it would feel like if someone could look into your soul.

“I’m fine, Cas. Sorry. Just a little dizzy. Haven’t had my coffee yet,” he tries smiling weakly. Dean breaks away from Cas’ grip and goes into the kitchen. At the sink, he splashes cool water on his face, then pours himself the cup of caffeine he claimed he needs. But the thought of actually drinking it makes his stomach churn, so he dumps it out and opts for water.

Cas follows him into the kitchen, checking the children over his shoulder as he walks. “Dean, what is it?” Cas asks in a near-whisper.

“Nothing,” Dean replies, leaning over the sink, his hands gripping the edges of the counter. “I must just be coming down with whatever you had.”

Cas rubs his shoulders, and finally Dean straightens to look at him. He can see it in the other man’s face that Cas doesn’t believe him, but he’s thankful Cas doesn’t push. Honestly, Dean doesn’t know what to think. He can barely process what he just saw. _I’m going crazy. I’m completely losing it. This is how it starts._

He takes a deep breath.

“I’m good,” he nods at Cas, who is still studying him intently and inscrutably. Dean cups his hand around Cas’ jaw and pulls him into a kiss, using the contact as his anchor in reality. He leans his forehead against Cas’ and they stay there for just a few seconds until the inevitable happens…

“Dad! Papa! Benben’s tryin’ t’eat my Elsa puzzle an’ he won’t stop!”

Dean and Cas break apart with resigned half-grins, and they make their way to the living room to sort out the obvious crisis.

 

  **

  

As he carries Ben over to the crib, Dean just hopes that the kid will get a decent afternoon nap in before his parents show up to shuttle Ben and Claire off for some quality spoiling at the hands of Nana and Pops. Ben is overtired, fidgety, and whiny, and Dean fears they may have reached the point of no return and that Ben won’t just go quietly into the crib. He rubs his hand in circles on Ben’s back, trying to calm his son.

“Ok, if I put you down, you gonna be a man about it?” he mutters to Ben.

Luckily, this vision is shorter and less intense, just a flash of him holding a baby—but not Ben or Claire ( _Bobby John_ , his mind whispers)—and saying those same words as he hushes the infant and lowers him into an old motel crib.

When his mind returns to Ben’s room, he sees Ben peering at him, and then his little face scrunches up into a wail, and Dean hurries to calm the boy back down again. He starts to hum and sing “Hey Jude” as he sways and rocks, and is relieved when Ben settles down without much more fuss. He tucks his son into the crib, then makes his way silently out of the room.

In the hallway, he sinks to the floor and draws up his knees, propping up his elbows on them, and digging his palms in to his eyes.

He can’t keep doing this. What is happening to him?

He sits there, trying to calm himself and convince himself that he’s fine.

_You’re not crazy. You’re just stressed from work. You probably saw something on TV like that and your brain is just making up crap because it’s worn out. Get your ass in gear, Winchester. You got a night without the kids tonight, you can catch up on sleep and get your shit together._

Dean allows himself two minutes—he counts the seconds off carefully—before he pulls himself back up and goes down to the rest of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Bill Martin, Jr. and John Archambault for "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom", a book I have memorized thanks to my many years working in summer camps and babysitting.


	5. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for homophobia/implied homophobia.

The longer Cas stays here, the more he encounters, and the more this reality’s “memories” seep into his consciousness, but they are generally fleeting visions or feelings. Tucking Claire in under the covers brings with it the long-gone sounds of Dean cursing when he tried to assemble the bedframe. Ben grabbing his finger and insistently trying to get “Da!” to pay attention to his toys makes him think—if that’s even the right word—of the first time the boy wrapped his infant fingers around his thumb and Cas fell in love with him. Dean hip-checking him slightly and giving him a small smirk and wink as they move around each other seamlessly cleaning up after dinner conjures memories of similar routines in Dean’s old apartment.

After holding that first picture and having the rush of feeling as Jess snapped an innocent photo of him and Dean with their children, he knows he should probably avoid the other framed memories, but he can’t help it. In the early, early morning on Saturday, while his family slumbers, Cas silently makes his way down to the shelves, setting the baby monitor on the coffee table.

_“I want to go back to the way things were!”_

_“Do you, Cas? Do you? Think about it.”_

The archangel’s words have been echoing in his mind ever since the Gabriel left him standing powerless in the living room.

So he was, and is, thinking about it.

He knows this isn’t real, despite what Gabriel insists. He knows that the heartache and pain and suffering of his other life is real.

Does he want that back? Does he want to give this up?

 _It wasn’t all heartache and suffering. It isn’t all heartache and suffering,_ he reminds himself, thinking of the strange, but loving, life they have carved out for themselves in Lebanon.

But he wants more of this life, too.

His fingers twitch nervously by his sides as he looks over the framed photos again. _Maybe this won’t even work. Maybe it was a one-time deal_ , he thinks, trying to brace himself for disappointment.

_And what if it does work?_

He pushes that question from his mind and decides to try a picture that perhaps won’t be as emotionally intense. His hand gravitates to the one of young Dean and Benny leaning against the Impala, smiling with all the invincibility and carefreeness of teenagers. Cas figures since he isn’t even in the photo and it was taken long before he presumably came into Dean’s life, that if there is a feeling or memory attached to it, it won’t be too much to handle.

_Or maybe you’re trying to convince yourself it won’t work._

Before he can lose his resolve, he brushes his fingers over the frame.

_Cas closes the door to Claire’s room, finally having gotten the girl down for a mid-morning nap. At the end of the hall, the door to their bedroom is half-opened and Cas faintly hears the creak of their mattress._

_Quietly, he opens the door and finds Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, the framed photo of him and Benny in high school between his hands. He is leaning on his elbows, which are most likely digging sharply into his knees and thighs._

_It’s been only a couple days since Benny passed, a rare blood disorder robbing the man of his life and Cas’ partner of his best friend._

_“Dean?” Cas asks cautiously. “Can I come in?”_

_Dean looks up, his eyes are red, but dry. “Yeah, ‘course,” he rasps._

_Cas crosses to the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge as well. He wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Dean and to comfort him, but he’s not sure if Dean wants that._

_“Cas, I’m sorry I’ve been…” Dean begins, but Cas cuts him off with a hand on Dean’s forearm._

_“No, you don’t have to apologize. I understand.”_

_“Claire doesn’t,” Dean mutters guiltily._

_“She does in her own way. I told her that you were feeling sad and sick because you missed your friend, but that you would be better soon. I told her you loved her, but sometimes you needed to be alone when you are upset, just like she did last week when we had to explain to her that Hallie and her family moved away and wouldn’t be coming back to daycare.”_

_Dean’s shoulders slump, but he nods as he hears Cas’ words. “Maybe today I’ll take her to the park, just the two of us.”_

_“That’s a good idea,” Cas smiles softly. Dean moves his arm out from under Cas’ touch, opting instead to wind their fingers together. Cas moves closer on the bed so their shoulders are touching._

_“I’ve been thinking…” Dean says slowly, uncertainly. “Now that we know the baby’s gonna be a boy, could we…?”_

_Cas has a feeling he knows what Dean is going to ask, but he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions in case he’s wrong. He lets Dean work his way up to it instead._

_“…I dunno. I was thinking maybe naming the kid Benjamin. Or just Ben. We don’t have to, though, if it’s not what you want…”_

_“Dean, I would love our son even if you wanted to name him Led Zeppelin, though I am glad that is not the case,” Cas grins and is relieved to see Dean choke out a chuckle. “Benjamin is a good name. Benny was a good man, and is completely worthy of naming our son after.”_

_Cas had never known Benny the way Dean had, and to be honest, there had been times when they’d first met that they hadn’t seen eye-to-eye, but Benny was a loyal friend and like a brother to Dean. Over the years, Benny and Cas had come to value and respect each other._

_“Thanks, Cas. I love you. You know that, right?” Dean’s eyes are still filled with pain and grief, but a measure of calm seems to have come over him._

_“Of course I know that. I love you, too,” Cas says as they both lean in on each other._

Cas “wakes up” from the vision. Benny. Ben. All the pieces seem to fit together so seamlessly, although Cas feels a twinge of anger and annoyance at Gabriel’s cruel ironic joke: a vampire in another reality dies of a blood disorder in this one.

He holds his forehead in his hand, a headache starting again, although he’s relieved he hasn’t collapsed like he did the first time. But the photos are addictive. He regards them carefully, deciding which one he wants to try next.

He decides he wants to know more about just him and Dean, since obviously in this world there was no rescue mission to Hell or Mark of Cain to bring them together. He scans the shelf for a picture of just the two of them. But, for some reason, he lands on the one of him and Dean with Jody Mills.

_“Godfuckingdamnshit!” someone roars._

_Cas has heard some strange strings of cursing in his time, but even he has to marvel at that one, despite the setting. The other ambulance crews are just starting to drive off with the injured parties—a middle aged man, and a family of three: two parents and a young boy—of the car crash. They were fortunate that no one had died, although the father’s injuries could be serious if not dealt with quickly and properly. Cas and his team have stayed behind to deal with any cases of shock or other injuries that may have escaped noticed._

_Cas looks around him to try and determine where the swearing has originated from. He can see Sheriff Jody Mills organizing the scene and trying to get traffic back to something resembling normal now that the immediate crisis has been resolved._

_Before he can look further, a gruff voice that can only belong to the curser speaks up from behind him._

_“Hey, man, you got any gauze?”_

_Cas turns to find one of the volunteer firefighters he’d seen by the truck earlier clutching his right forearm while blood seeps through his fingers. The man’s face is tight with pain and indignation, as though he can't believe his arm had the audacity to get injured._

_“Of course,” Cas says, snapping to his duties. In a few minutes, and after much grumbling (“It’s fine, dude—I can take care of it. Just need gauze. You don’t hafta—” “Why don’t you shut up and let me do my job? Do you want this to get infected? You probably should get stitches for this.” “Nah, I’ll be fine.” “Whatever; it’s your arm. Quit moving.”), Cas has bandaged up the other man, his fingers moving deftly over the gauze._

_“Thanks,” the other man says, looking over Cas’ work. “I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”_

_“Castiel Novak.”_

_“Well, thanks again, Cas,” Dean says with a smile on his lips._

_“Sure,” Cas shrugs like it was nothing, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks over Dean. “So how did you get cut up? And how come you’re just in a t-shirt and jeans, not all 'geared up' like the rest of your friends?”_

_“Not on call today. I was just driving by and saw the crash. I’m the one who called it in,” Dean says with a touch of nonchalance that does little to mask the tension in his face as he tries not to think of what he saw._

_“And the cut?” Cas presses. The gash had been nasty and deep; he doubts the other man will walk away without a scar._

_Dean’s eyes flick back and forth almost sheepishly. “Saw the kid’s Batman action figure stuck in the car. Thought I’d get it and bring it over to the hospital. Scraped my arm bad on some twisted metal on the doorframe.”_

_Cas’ heart skips a beat. He won’t realize it until months later, but this moment is when he fell in love with Dean. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that; no doubt he’s terrified in the hospital,” Cas says._

_“That’s what I figured,” Dean agrees, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the action figure. “I fucking bled for this thing. Kid better appreciate it!” Dean jokes._

_“Novak! Winchester!” Jody calls over. “You boys wanna stop the small talk and give us a hand over here?”_

_Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and Cas grins. Together, they make their way over to the Sheriff._

This memory, or maybe it’s having two them in a row, hits Cas harder and he can feel his knees buckle. He recovers a bit, then pulls himself together faster when he hears Claire thump out of bed upstairs; for a three-year-old, she makes a great deal of noise. Thinking it’s best to let Dean sleep, he goes upstairs to collect the children.

As he mounts the stairs, something about that memory niggles at the back of his mind. There was something important about that, beyond the obvious “love at first sight” trope, which could only be Gabriel’s doing. No…something about the injury…

“Dad!” Claire interrupts his thoughts as she bounds over with her arms outstretched. Immediately, he gathers her up and kisses her temple, and then she quickly wriggles out of his grasp and he sets her back down. “Is Benben awake?” she asks in a terrible attempt at a whisper.

“Let’s find out,” he says, holding her hand as they go down the hall.

 

**

 

Cas has been keeping a close eye on Dean ever since this morning when he looked like he was about to pass out. Of course, because some parts of Dean are the same in every reality, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it and had just deflected Cas’ inquiries. He wonders if Dean is remembering the real world, which would explain the look of horror or nausea; it’s also not lost on Cas that this had happened just after Dean had mysteriously brought up having a third child and naming her Emma. They had never spoken openly about her, but Dean had prayed to Cas in Purgatory that night; Cas knows how much the girl's two deaths had affected Dean.

But how can Cas just explain to Dean that he’s having visions of a true reality? One with monsters and demons and angels? Would this Dean believe him? For the time being, Cas decides to observe and hope that Gabriel decides sooner rather than later to return and end this mess.

Now, Dean is rushing around the house, packing and repacking the children’s bags in preparation for John and Mary’s arrival.

“Dean, you have everything. You checked already,” Cas says soothingly after watching Dean count out tiny pants and shirts for the third time.

The truth is, though, Cas is also nervous. He doesn’t know John and Mary, except for what he observed when he brought Dean back to 1973 to witness Mary’s deal with Azazel. Now, he is expected to play son-in-law, and Dean seems agitated.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighs. “Hey, uh, Dad’s bringing your car back today. Can you two play nice?”

“Of course,” Cas agrees instantly, although the request does little to calm him. Inwardly, he is wryly amused that after fighting untold evil for millennia, meeting Dean’s parents in an alternate reality is what is terrifying him. Perhaps he is far more human in mind-set than he gives himself credit.

They hear two car engines in the driveway. Cas looks out to see John, his hair grey with only hints of black, climb out of a silver SUV. Mary, her ashy blonde hair streaked with grey but still elegant, climbs out of what appears to be an expertly restored older red car. Cas can only assume, based on what he knows of the Winchesters’ taste in vehicles, that the silver SUV is his own and John and Mary’s car is the red one.

Dean opens the door as John and Mary approach, his arms open for a hug with Mary. Cas’s heart warms to watch.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean greets her, holding her tight. Mary’s smile is wide and genuine.

“Hey, hon,” she says, then pulls back and pats Dean on the cheek. “I like the scruff. Going for a beard?”

“Thinking about it. Really, I was just lazy this morning,” Dean confesses with a pleased grin on his face.

His mother laughs and moves to Cas. “Cas! How are you?”

Before Cas can respond, he is also enveloped in an embrace. He can smell baking spices and something, perhaps her shampoo or perfume, that hints of flowers. “I’m well, Mary,” he manages. “And you?”

“Good! We’re doing good! Just looking for my grandkids! You got them hiding away somewhere?”

“They just woke up from naps and are very engrossed watching _Tangled_ at the moment,” Cas admits. Mary laughs, her hand on his forearm. Without another word or more invitation, she goes into the living room and he can hear the delighted voices of Mary, Claire, and Ben.

Dean and John, meanwhile, exchange more formal handshakes and John claps his son on the shoulder. Cas moves over to join them.

“Cas,” John says gruffly by way of greeting, offering a hand. Cas takes it firmly, having learned long ago from Dean the importance human males place on a strong handshake.

“Hello, John,” he nods.

“I was just telling Dean I got your car all fixed up,” John says as he hands Cas the keys, and Cas utters a thank you. John turns back to Dean. “Still can’t believe you let him buy that foreign piece of crap. I told you—”

“Dad,” Dean cuts him off with a hint of warning, and Cas can see him bristle at his father’s criticism.

“Yeah, all right. Sorry, Cas. Anyway, she’ll run fine now, but these newer cars just don’t hold up the same. You taking care of the Impala, Dean?”

“Of course.” The response is short and clipped, but Cas can see Dean visibly try to keep the conversation from going off the rails, and so he adds in a much friendlier tone, “Just put new brakes on her last week.”

“Good,” John acknowledges. “I wouldn’t have given you—”

But whatever John is about to say about the Impala goes by the wayside as Mary returns with the children in tow. The hard lines of John’s face soften as he sees his grandchildren.

“Can you say, ‘Hi Pops?’” Mary prompts Ben.

“I p’ps!” Ben waves from his grandmother’s arms.  

“How’s my little man doing?” John booms, and Ben giggles and returns a wide grin.

Claire, of course, has already left Mary’s hand and is reaching up for John. He picks her up and chuckles richly when the little girl immediately pushes a doll in John’s face, almost making him choke on the synthetic auburn hair.

“Claire, be nice…” Cas warns automatically, and not for the first time in this very strange weekend is Cas amazed at how easily parenting young children has come to him.

“It’s fine, Cas. Right, Pumpkin?” John chuckles, causing Claire to shoot Cas a devious 'Ha!  _Pops_ says it's ok so I can do what I want' grin that makes Cas immediately think of the eighteen-year-old he knows too well. On the other side of the elder Winchester, Cas can see the tension in Dean’s shoulders lessen considerably as he watches his father with his daughter.

Ten minutes later, and after many assurances that they have everything and gently sarcastic reminders from Mary that they have raised children before and know what they’re doing, the children are packed into the red car. Cas notices that Dean stands a bit farther apart from him than perhaps is normal as they wave good-bye, but once John turns the car around the corner and out of sight, Dean takes his hand and they return to the house.

 

**

 

Later that night, Cas is relieved that after the anxiety of meeting John and Mary, meeting this reality’s Charlie and Sam is nothing by comparison. Other than the fact that Sam and Charlie don’t have the weight of the world on them like they do back home—Sam particularly—they are practically unchanged. Out back on the deck, Dean gets the grill going and the four of them sit around chatting and enjoying beers and Charlie’s margaritas. Even though there are whole sections of conversations that Cas cannot participate in, he feels pleasantly comfortable listening and just enjoying the evening. Luckily, no one seems to notice if he’s quiet. Perhaps this reality’s Cas is quiet, too.

Eventually, the margarita pitcher runs dry, and Cas and Charlie find themselves in the kitchen mixing up more, Charlie singing along to the radio on the counter, Cas enjoying the harmonies of the singers.

_All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey_

_I’ve been for a walk on a winter’s day._

_I’d be safe and warm if I was in LA;_

_California dreamin’ on such a—_

The music cuts out abruptly and the two turn to see that Dean and Sam have come in, Dean’s shoulders tense as he stalks away from the radio, grabbing the chip bowl he came in for. Charlie just looks at Sam in confusion and shock.

“What was that all about? It’s a classic! Dean likes the classics!”

“Um, yeah, not that band though,” Sam says, looking at Cas as though Cas should be the one explaining. Cas just shrugs and hopes to convey that he doesn’t mind Sam telling whatever it is he’s supposed to know. In truth, Cas is just as curious as Charlie. “Do you care if I…?”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas concedes immediately.

“Ok, uh, well, it was right around the time Claire started talking and we were all over Mom and Dad’s. Dad and Cas…didn’t exactly get along—Dad’s kind of conservative, you know—and things with Dean and Dad were kinda strained to say the least, though they’d been getting better ever since Claire was born. Old man’s a sucker for his grandkids. Anyway, one of Dad’s old buddies, Vince, was there—they used to work together. Sooo, Vince'd had a few too many drinks, and he’d already made a few less than PC comments, and after hearing Claire call Dean ‘Papa,’ he made a crack at Dean and Cas, saying ‘Well, if he’s Papa Dean, does that make you Mama Cas?’”

“Oh…” Charlie says, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, so um, Dean was pissed, Cas just kinda shrugged it off, but Dad decked Vince and kicked him out of the house.”

“So, no ‘California Dreamin’’ or ‘Monday Monday’ ever since?”

“Exactly. On the plus side, Dad and Cas finally started seeing eye-to-eye after that, right?”

Cas smiles and nods, even though he doesn’t quite understand how this relates to the song and he has little to contribute to the story. At the very least, Cas is relieved to hear that this version of himself, Dean, and John actually are on relatively good terms with each other, since this afternoon’s “introduction” had been quick, a little tense at times, and hard for Cas to read. Cas knows that his Dean always worried and feared what his father would think about his sexuality (even now, Dean himself balks at using labels like “bisexual”; _“Why can’t we just be, Cas? Why does everyone gotta talk about it and try to define it—me—you—us—and all that bullshit?”_); it had been an immense relief to him when Bobby’s spirit had openly given Dean and Cas his “blessing”—if asking Sam to pay up on a bet counts as such. Cas wonders about this universe's Dean’s experiences.

Not for the first time, Cas reflects on how strange it is that humans get so hung up about something so ultimately unimportant in the grand scheme of things; love is love—who cares who it is between? He imagines this is the same reason fake him had no issue with Vince's comment: the only reason Cas identifies as a male is because he’s been in Jimmy’s likeness for so long; otherwise, as a being who spent eons as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, he is totally indifferent to gender designations.

Charlie being Charlie brings Cas out of his contemplations. “Well, I say we get Dean out of this funk with some good ol’ friendly competition,” she suggests.

“What’d you have in mind?” Sam wonders.

“Cas, does Dean still have his xbox?”

Cas panics; he has no idea what an xbox is or how to answer. Luckily, Sam does for him. “He should, unless he tossed it in the last couple weeks.”

“Excellent,” Charlie grins mischievously. “It’s been far too long since I kicked Dean’s butt on that thing.”

“I thought the idea was to make Dean _less_ upset?” Cas counters.

“I’ll let him choose the game,” Charlie offers with mock-innocence.

“If we do teams, I want you on mine, Charlie. No offense, Cas,” Sam laughs.

“None taken,” Cas shrugs, grabbing the margarita pitcher.

Two hours and several cocktails later, Cas understands exactly why Sam didn’t want to be on his team. He’s just relieved Dean’s had just enough tequila to be happily buzzed and to not mind losing horribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing John Winchester was hard. I tried to blend what we see of him in canon with what I believe he would have been like if his life hadn't gone to hell in 1983. While I think that the John Winchester we see in the show is a total asshole and the way he treated Dean and Sam as kids (especially Dean) is unforgivable, I don't think he would have been that way had things gone differently. Yes, in "Dark Side of the Moon," we get the hint that things weren't perfect between him and Mary, but the young John we see in the two trips back to the 1970s seems like an ok guy for the most part (like how he's shocked that Sam's "dad" would raise him in such a lifestyle). Plus, in the opening scene of the pilot, we see John happily pick up four-year-old Dean to go say goodnight to baby Sammy, and at the end of season 1, John tells Sam about how he put money in the bank for his sons to go to college. So, my version of John in this reality still has some of those asshole-ish qualities, but I think he's a much better person than I've seen in some AU fics.


	6. Decisions

As Dean opens his eyes, his first thought is _ugh Advil…what the fuck._ He hasn’t had this thought upon waking up in a long, long time. Amazing how quickly having kids kills your alcohol tolerance and your drinking opportunities.

 _At least I got a bed, not a couch,_ he wryly—and somewhat guiltily—thinks. Sam, whose Gigantor limbs would barely fit on the couch, had stumbled onto the high-end futon in the office at why-the-fuck-are-we-still-awake o’clock, and Charlie had graciously taken the living room sofa, which is—Dean has to admit—very comfortable, but it doesn’t hold a candle to his memory foam. “It remembers me,” he had gleefully told Cas at the store when they’d gone mattress shopping.

He rolls over and nuzzles his face against Cas’ neck and back, earning him a grumbled “nghnrfhgnh too early” from the other man.

“I know, man, go back to sleep,” Dean murmurs with a quiet chuckle despite his headache; Cas is always grumpy in the morning. But, he feels Cas’ fingers trace his forearm. They get so few moments like this together that Dean settles his arm a little tighter around Cas’ waist. Not that Dean would trade his life or anything, but there’s something to be said for the occasional kid-less lazy morning.

Cas continues drawing the slow lines up and down his arm, and the corners of Dean’s lips twitch up. In the back of his mind, something about his tattoo pricks at his consciousness, but before he can give the idea anymore thought, Cas’ fingers brush the ink.

_He’s barely left the room ever since Cas had collapsed in his arms in the rest stop parking lot and they had brought him back to the bunker. No matter what Sam and Claire said, he wouldn’t leave the side of the angel—human, now—who’d given everything for Dean, who had fallen for Dean._

_Whom Dean had fallen for._

_Even once Cas had woken up, Dean hadn’t wanted to leave, but Cas eventually convinced him to grab a shower, some food, and some fresh air. Of course, that meant that Dean had taken only the most perfunctory break and returned immediately to Cas’ side on the bed._

_Cas had drifted back to sleep, but his eyes crack open and a smile plays on his lips as Dean settles on the mattress beside him._

_“You smell better,” Cas mumbles, rolling over on his side to face Dean._

_“Gee, thanks,” he responds dryly. “’Mazing what some soap and good water pressure’ll do.”_

_“Did you eat?” Cas wonders._

_“Christ, Cas, I’m the one who’s supposed to worry about taking care of you right now.” Dean drapes an arm over Cas’ shoulder, rubbing lightly in small circles._

_“As if that would stop me from watching over you, Dean.” Cas reaches out and grips Dean’s arm, running his thumb over the new mark; the remnants of Cas’ Grace hum pleasantly at the contact._

_“Fine. You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”_

_“Must be why I love you,” Cas deadpans automatically._

_Dean doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing until Cas sits up, eyes wide in concern._

_“Dean?” Cas’ voice is quiet and raw with worry. “I’m sorry. I know humans place great importance on such declarations. You don’t have to—”_

_Dean’s brain unsticks and he feels something in his chest unblock as he looks into those alarmed blue eyes. He leans forward, pushing his lips onto Cas’, kissing deeply but surprisingly tenderly. He pulls away slowly. “I’m fucking terrible with words, Cas, so, uh, I might not say this a lot. But it don’t make it untrue. I…I love you, too, Cas.”_

_He’s said it. Words he hasn’t spoken in a long time, and never to someone not related by blood. He doesn’t know if he can say them again, and he doesn’t want to have to talk about this, and so he pulls Cas’ head in and kisses him again._

Dean bolts up in the bed, clutching his forehead in pain that goes far beyond his hangover. Cas is kneeling next to him, strong hands cupping his face.

“Dean? Dean!” Cas’ voice pounds against his consciousness.

“What…I’m…how…what…”

“What did you see, Dean?” Cas demands. “What did you see?!”

Dean’s head snaps up at the fear in Cas’ voice. “How did you know…?”

“Not now, Dean. What. Did. You. See?”

“It was…” he swallows, unsure where to begin. “It was us. And you were hurt but getting better and you had saved me because you were—” _God this sounds so fucking nuts. He’s going to think I’ve lost it…_ “—an angel. And you told me you loved me. I…and I finally told you the same.” Dean can barely look Cas in the eye, recalling the moment. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to tell you ‘I loved you’. I was…scared.”

Dean has never been scared to tell Cas he loves him. He could never make Cas worry or risk hurting him like that. But the Dean in that vision…

“Oh,” Cas breathes, and those blue eyes are as wide and worried as they had been in the vision. It’s almost like Cas _knows_. But how could he…?

Pain erupts in his head, his vision flashing out in bright blue-white light. He roars as images and…memories?...rush before his eyes and pound into his brain.

Losing Mom. The hunting. The motels. Protecting Sammy. The Yellow-Eyed Demon. Losing Dad. Hell. The Apocalypse. Losing Jo and Ellen. The Leviathan. Almost losing Cas. Losing Bobby. Purgatory. Losing Kevin. The Mark. Crowley. Being a demon. Cas' Grace and fall.

He remembers it all. The whole mess, the bloody, painful mess. But there are bright spots in the darkness. Reuniting with Sam. Cas. Charlie. Claire. Ben.

His vision clears and he pushes himself off the bed and away from Cas, stumbling as he recovers from the nearly debilitating pain.

“Dean?” Cas asks softly, coming over to him and clutching him firmly by the shoulders.

“What the fuck, Cas?” he chokes out.

“Do you…remember everything?” Cas swallows, terror plain on his face.

“Wait, so that’s all real? What the hell is happening to me, Cas?” Tears well in Dean’s eyes and he blinks them back forcefully.

“Gabriel,” Cas replies simply, and the one word is enough to shake any doubt from Dean’s mind; pure anger pulses through his veins.

“What. The. Hell. That fucking sonofabitch,” Dean spits. He breaks out of Cas’ grip, running his hands through his hair. “Have you remembered this whole time? Is that why you’ve been so out of it?”

“Yes,” Cas’ eyes drop to the floor in shame. “He left me all of my memories of home, but gave me none of this world.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve gained some ‘memories’ this weekend, but just bits and pieces. From what I can tell, this reality has only existed since Friday morning.”

Dean paces for at least half a minute before saying anything. He stops abruptly. “Wait. If this is all Gabriel—are any of…them…real? Sammy? Claire? Ben? Charlie?...Mom and Dad?”

“He says they are, but I don’t know how. And I don’t think anyone else knows the truth.”

“Fuck…” Dean mutters.

“Dean…?” a timid voice calls from the stairs. Charlie’s light steps climb quickly, and Sam’s much louder ones follow.

“We’re in the bedroom,” Cas answers just as Charlie eases open the door.

“We heard you yelling from downstairs,” she explains, looking back at Sam for support.

“Are you two ok? We can leave if, you know, you need some space…” Despite the outrageous bedhead, Sam’s wounded and worried puppy look is in full force. In any other circumstance, Dean might have chuckled.

“We’re not fighting.” For the moment, Dean is relieved Cas has taken over conversation and explanations; he just doesn’t have it in him right now.

“Um, ok, well…” Charlie looks uncomfortable, and Dean can’t blame her. She shoots him a look telling him he can talk to her if he needs her, and he feels a rush of gratitude…followed quickly by a sense of guilt that the real Charlie is his friend because she has been dragged into the Winchester family business of pain and suffering.

But this isn’t real. No matter what that dick archangel might have told Cas, this isn’t his—or any of theirs—life. And there’s always a catch, right?

“You need to get Gabriel back here right the fuck now,” Dean growls at Cas.

“I don’t know if he’ll come, Dean. He said he would after the weekend…”

“I don’t fucking care, Cas! You tell him to get his feathery ass down here pronto. It’s fucking Sunday morning; that’s as close to after the weekend as we’re going to get.”

“Who the hell is Gabriel?” Sam’s eyes dart between Dean and Cas, and Dean can tell his younger brother is wondering if he will have to step in between the partners if things get violent. Dean unclenches his hands, which he hadn’t even realized were balled up in fists until that moment.

“I think,” Cas sighs, “we should go downstairs and talk. _Then_ we can call Gabriel.”

“Are you fucking nuts? They’re not going to believe any of this! Pray to your big brother and get him to mojo something to get this conversation going. I want this to end. _Now._ ”

“Wait. Big brother? Prayer? Mojo? Not to kill this wonderfully engaging suspense you’ve got going on here, but I’m with Sam. What the hell are you two talking about?” Charlie pipes up, her arms crossed.

“They’re talking about me, Red,” a voice gleefully chimes in from behind Dean, a voice that sets his voice on edge, a voice accompanied by a rustle of feathers.

Without hesitation and ignoring the shocked gasps of Charlie and Sam, Dean spins around, grabs Gabriel, and slams him into the wall, causing the mirror above the closest dresser to rattle precariously on its hooks. His right fist is buried in the archangel’s right lapel, his forearm digging into Gabriel’s chest; he would be just shy of choking the angel if—that is—the fucker had to breath. If he had an angel blade, it would be pointed right as the archangel’s heart.

“Careful, Deano. Don’t want to make Cassie all jealous,” Gabriel smirks with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“What the fucking hell is going on Gabriel?” Dean snarls.

“Dean, who the fuck is that—” Sam is practically shouting while Charlie is stammering, “How…what just...”

Gabriel sighs. “You’re never any fun, Dean. Anyway, I’m thinking this room is just a _little_ too crowded for the inevitable Winchester bluster and angry jaw sesh I know is coming, so…” He snaps his fingers, and suddenly they are all in what looks like Gabriel’s own personal Heaven (if angels have such a thing): a dimly lit VIP room with two extremely busty and scantily clad women offering Gabriel cocktails and candy as he lounges on an oversized plush chair.

Cas seems resigned and annoyed at the new venue, but Dean’s anger is still bubbling up inside; Cas puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. Beside him, Sam and Charlie look like deer caught in headlights.

“What is going on?” Sam manages to choke out.

“Did we just Apparate?” Charlie whispers in shock.

“No. Kinda,” Dean manages, once he realizes Gabriel is just as happy to let Dean and Cas explain things while he sits back and enjoys the…view…the ladies provide. “Look,” he begins, and he can’t even process how weird it is to be having this conversation with Sam of all people, “everything you ever heard about monsters and demons and angels isn’t completely bullshit. They’re all real.”

“And Gabriel is an archangel,” Cas explains, jerking his head over to the angel. “He’s _that_ Gabriel.”

“Aw, thanks, Cassie. What an intro. Good to see you haven’t forgotten that sense of flair you’re so well known for,” Gabriel snarks.

“ _Gabriel?_ ” Sam shakes his head in disbelief and curiosity.

“Monsters? What the hell?” Charlie looks like she’s waiting for Dean to tell her he’s just kidding, but at the same time, Dean thinks he can spy that quintessential adventurous spark in her eyes.

“How do you two know all this?” Sam sputters.

“You do, too, Sammy-boy,” Gabriel carols, launching himself up from his throne. “Well, did. Cas here used to be an angel, too. He’s my little bro.”

“You’re an angel?” Charlie asks Cas, her eyes wide in wonder.

“I was, until I fell and became human.”

“Ok, enough with the fucking exposition,” Dean growls as he turns to the archangel. “What the hell do you want, Gabriel? What is this bullshit fantasyland you got going on? And how the fuck are you even here? Lucifer killed you.”

“Metatron’s story writing got the best of him,” Gabriel brags. “Hard to kill an idea.”

“What, so you got tulpa-ed back to life and then decided to fuck with our memories?”

“Love the verb choice there, Deano. Always did have a way with words. But yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it. And to answer your first two questions—can’t a guy give his favorite little sibling a gift? You know, a ‘hey sorry you fell and your life has kinda sucked but thanks for saving the world’ pity party present?”

“You think this is a gift?” Cas’ eyes narrow, his voice low and cold.

“Well, I did give you the three day return policy, if it makes you feel any better. That’s why I let you keep your memories, Cas.” Gabriel shrugs, then grins. “How’re you liking the new ones? There’s more where that came from, kid. I saw you going for the photos.”

Cas’ jaw tightens and the ex-angel makes no response. Dean chooses to ignore Gabriel’s last taunt for the moment; he wants answers.

“So how come I remember everything now, and Sam and Charlie don’t?”

Throughout the exchange, the younger Winchester and the hacker have remained uncharacteristically quiet, but at this, their heads both jerk up. Gabriel’s eyes flick between Cas and Dean. For the first time, Dean gets the sense that he’s hit at a weakness, but the archangel tries to play it off.

“Do you know how much crap the other angels gave Cas behind his back when they heard about that post-Hell handprint of yours?” Gabriel snickers. Cas flushes and Dean feels heat rising in the back of his neck.

“You weren’t even in Heaven at the time—” Cas begins.

“Duuuuude. Archangel. Just because I was in my own private witness protection doesn’t mean I was completely out of the loop. How else do you think I knew which humans to fuck around with leading up to the Apocalypse?”

“ _Apocalypse?_ ” Dean hears Sam whisper.

“Aaaaanyway. Dean, you’ve got more Grace than baby bro does these days. The Mark of Cain and your stint as Crowley’s best bud mighta eaten up most of the lingering Grace from when Cas raised you, but that new love tap you got on your arm is more than just some pretty sigils.”

The pieces quickly click together. “So you’re saying that because I got some of Cas’ Grace in me—” And damn is Dean glad Sammy and Charlie are clueless right now because he knows they’d pounce on that opening… “—you can’t brainwash me like you did everyone else?”

“‘Fraid not. Unfortunate side-effect. You’d think archangel would trump fallen seraph, but then again, Dad always did have a soft spot for you, Cas. Pretty sure Dad ships Destiel more than anyone,” Gabriel taunts, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. Now it’s Dean’s turn for his jaw to tighten. “Couldn’t even be bothered to bring me back. So yeah, guess you mix a little lovesick Grace and sexy Righteous Man soul and you got yourself some pretty powerful anti-angel mojo.”

“Ok, hold up everyone,” Charlie finally butts in. “I’m tired of being in the dark. Can someone please explain to me what’s going on? You know, without getting all sidetracked and pissy at each other?”

“I like her,” Gabriel chortles. “All right, you got it, Red. Since Deano got stuck with the double set of memories and Cas isn’t playing with a full deck—heh—of memories from this world, how about I speed this along and put everyone on the same playing field? Ready to get your real memories back, kiddos?” Gabriel disappears and reappears instantly in front of Sam and Charlie. He holds out both his hands, two fingers extended to each forehead.

With a shout each, they collapse to the floor, clutching their heads in pain. Dean and Cas hurry over to them to help them up, Dean reaching Sam first and hauling him to his feet, Cas assisting Charlie. Finally the pain seems to abate and Dean watches in horror as his brother’s face falls as the weight of the world sinks back down onto the younger Winchester’s shoulders. He looks over to where Cas has wrapped Charlie in a hug, but she seems to be holding up surprisingly well.

Gabriel, of course, ruins it by dosing Cas with the rest of the memories of this world, leaving Charlie to steady the ex-angel as he nearly collapses. Dean rushes over to help. Once Cas is upright again, Charlie pulls away from Cas and turns to Gabriel.

“So did you _Dollhouse_ us with whole new personalities and lives?” Charlie’s eyes narrow.

“Points to the lady for going for the less mainstream Whedon reference. You know, in another universe...nah, never mind. Let’s get down to business. Cas, my man, you got a choice: you want this world or no?”

“ _What?_ ” Cas and Dean both demand at the same time.

Dean turns to Cas. “You know you gotta get us back, Cas. This isn’t right. This isn’t real.”

“Wait, wait, how come Cas gets to make this decision? What about us?” Charlie demands. “Shouldn’t we at least talk about this?”

“Oh, I should probably mention,” Gabriel juts in. “You got some options on this. Option 1: I reset everything. Sammy and the Infinite Tuesdays—man, that sounds like a bad band name—you know how that works.” Sam makes no response, but Dean can see pain and anger boiling under the surface of his brother’s stony glare. “Or,” Gabriel continues, “Option 2: you can stay here and live in your dream world of perfect little suburbia. Now Imma go over here and enjoy these _lovely_ ladies of mine while you all bro-pain it out ‘cause we all know no decisions ever get made without some Winchestery angst and tears.”

Without another word, Gabriel snaps his fingers, and a tinted glass wall shoots up between the four of them and Gabriel’s side of the room. In the back of Dean’s mind, he’s thankful that the glass is tinted dark enough that you have to really stop and peer through it to see what’s happening on the other side; he’s fairly confident he has no desire to see what the archangel is up to over there.

“Ok, Cas,” Dean turns to his partner. “You know what we have to do. I don’t care if I gotta remember this shit on my own. We have to go back.”

“Dean…are you sure?” Cas asks sadly.

“What do you fucking mean, am I sure? We just went through this shit with Ben! Gabriel’s fucking with reality, fucking with everything that makes us _us_. Aren’t you the one who told me this last time?”

“Perhaps I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you about altering Ben and Lisa’s memories,” Cas murmurs quietly. “Dean, do you have any idea what it’s been like to finally see you and your family happy and whole? You can’t fault me for wanting you to have that, even if I know it's wrong.”

Dean pulls at his hair. “You think I don’t know that? _Mom is alive here._ But it’s like the time I got stuck in that fucking djinn world, and you know what, it sucked when I realized it wasn’t real, but that’s the way it is.”

“Does it have to be?” Sam asks quietly. Dean’s stomach plummets. He’d been so focused on convincing Cas to make the right call he’d momentarily forgotten about his brother. The implications of Sam’s question are like a vice grip on his heart. _Oh fucking shit…_

“Sam—”

“ _No_ , Dean,” Sam swallows, purses his lips, and blinks back tears. “You don’t fucking get to make this call for me. Back home, you still have Cas and Claire, and even Ben. And you might not remember all those Tuesdays, and you obviously can’t remember that fucking Wednesday you died and the six months after up at the Mystery Spot, but _I_ do. So if we say we’re going back to that world, guess what I’m going back to?”

“Oh, Sam…” Charlie breathes.

“Yeah, that’s fucking right. I go back to knowing Jess is dead and all the while I have a lifetime’s worth of memories of her and _our children_ , who don’t even exist at _all_ back there.”

The thought of losing Mom again had been bad enough, but Dean can’t even fathom if he had to go back to a world where Cas is dead and Claire and Ben are just figments of his imagination, a happy memory that haunts him with what could never be.

“Sam,” he starts again, but he knows there are no words he can offer his brother.

“I can’t do it again, Dean. If we go back, I don’t want to fucking remember this. I can’t.”

“But we can’t stay here, Sammy,” he tries.

Sam simply clenches his teeth and storms away to the far side of the large room. Charlie starts to follow, but Cas holds her back and shakes his head slightly.

“What do we do?” she whispers.

“Give him space,” Cas advises. The ex-angel sighs heavily. “Sam’s right. He shouldn’t have to remember this.”

“Fuck,” Dean exhales. “This life is all I’ve ever wanted for Sammy. And now I’m ripping it away from him. Again. Like I dragged him outta Stanford and back into this shitshow.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Dean, and _this_ isn’t your fault. The only ones to blame for that are Azazel and Gabriel.”

“We had to do this with Bobby and Ellen when Balthazar saved the _Titanic_. That was fucking bad enough.”

“I know,” Cas reassures him, and takes his hand, squeezing gently. “Charlie, what do you think?”

“This isn’t home,” Charlie says simply. “Remember how before I got whisked off to Oz, I said I wanted to find my quest? Working for an engineering firm is a pretty lame-ass quest.”

Dean drops Cas’ hand and draws Charlie into a strong hug. “In the real world, you are a hero,” he tells her, echoing himself from years ago.

“I know,” she whispers.

“Sooooo,” Gabriel’s voice drawls and the dividing glass wall disappears again. “You come to some sort of decision? What’s the dealio gonna be?”

Sam returns to the group, resolutely avoiding all of their attempts to catch his eye, instead choosing to stare determinedly at a spot on the back wall over Gabriel’s head.  

“We’re going back,” Cas states firmly before anyone can protest. “But we have conditions.”

“Oohoohoo,” Gabriel chuckles. “Love it when you get all tough, Cas. Can’t believe you gave up your Grace and the chance to put your smiting face to good use. All right, lay it on me, what’re these ‘conditions?’”

“Each of us gets the choice of whether we remember this world or not,” the ex-angel asserts, ignoring his brother’s jab.

“Done. Except for one thing.” Gabriel doesn’t have to continue for Dean to know where he’s going with this, but of course, the archangel does anyway. “The proverbial spanner in the works. Sorry, Deano. You’re stuck with the memories either way.”

“I know,” Dean growls. “Just get on with it, Gabriel. Get us the fuck home.”

“Touchy. Sheesh. You know, you try to do something nice…” Gabriel mock-reflects. “Ok, down the line. Red, you’re up first. Memories: in or out?”

Charlie hesitates, looking between Dean, Cas, and Sam. Dean gives her a nod, letting her know that the decision is entirely up to her. “Out,” she states firmly. “Nothing in this world I don’t already have back home.”

“You got it,” Gabriel snaps and Charlie disappears. “Ok, Sasquatch. What’ll it be?”

“Out,” Sam spits. “And if I see you again, Gabriel—”

“Death by angel blade?” Gabriel asks with an obnoxious amount of glee in his voice. "Bring it, baby."

 _Snap._ Sam is gone.

“Cas?”

“In.”

Dean looks at him sharply. “What? Cas, are you sure? You don’t have to remember this. It’s like a djinn dream, it’s not real…”

“I can’t let you be the only one who carries this, Dean. I know how much of this world is what you have always wanted and can never have.”

“Cas—”

“Oh man, I’m zapping you back before I have to watch anymore of this chick-flick,” Gabriel snarks. Another snap, and it’s just the archangel and Dean.

“Ok, Gabriel. You’ve fucking had your fun. Send me back.”

“Not yet, chief. I gotta ask: _why?_ I mean, Cas’ always been an odd duck, so it doesn’t really surprise me that he wouldn’t choose the easy way out. But are you Winchesters really such gluttons for punishment—I know, stupid question—that you want to return to that crappy bunker and hunting?”

Dean glowers at the archangel. “This is exactly what you fucking angel dicks could never get through your heads during the Apocalypse. Humans aren’t perfect and yeah, our lives suck sometimes. In my case, a lot of the time. But the people I have back home? The life I lead? I _earned_ that. You can just make everything the way you want with a snap of your fingers, but you have nothing real. You don’t value anything. No wonder you fucking ran and hid.”

The mirth finally fades from Gabriel’s eyes. “Fine,” the archangel says, and Dean wonders if he’ll be paying for this sometime down the line. Gabriel snaps his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sammy. I think I need to write a fic where he gets a puppy.
> 
> Also, this is why I don't ship Sabriel (Sorry! If you do, cool; you do you...it's just not my thing) -- sure, Mystery Spot was a funny episode for us (because only with SPN is watching a beloved character die over and over funny), but for Sam...shit that was rough for him. I don't think he could ever get past watching his brother die over and over or the six months he spent after he thought Dean died for good.
> 
> I guess you could make the counterargument against Destiel since Cas broke Sam's wall, etc. but for me, the difference is that 1) Sam didn't die 2) Cas actively tried to apologize / make up for it (taking on Sam's hallucinations, etc.) 3) Cas didn't seem to enjoy it like Gabriel did. 
> 
> I love Gabriel as a character, don't get me wrong! I just don't get Sabriel. *shrugs* (If someone wants to explain why they do ship it, though, I would love to hear it! And I mean that genuinely. I have yet to find a convincing argument / explanation, but maybe I'm just missing something.)


	7. Home Again

“Hey, Cas. Gotta wake up. You’ve been out for a coupla hours.” Sam’s large hand is firm but gentle on his shoulder. Cas cracks his eyes open to find the younger Winchester leaning over him. His head feels heavy and foggy, the pillowcase is rough and scratchy against his cheek.

“Is Dean…?” he manages as he struggles to put the pieces back together. The motel. The vampires. The concussion.

They’re home.

_And the other home is gone._

“He’s on his way back. Said he got there and the vampire was already taken care of. Weird, right?”

“Yes,” Cas admits. “And Sam…are you all right?”

“Yeah, man. Leg’s all stitched up. I’m good. How’s the head?”

“Fine, I think.” Cas eases himself up to lean back against the headboard. Sam flicks on the TV, then tosses the remote on the bed.

“If you’re ok for a few, I’m gonna go limp across the street and pick up some grub. Dean’ll probably be back any minute.”

After Sam leaves, Cas doesn’t even bother to change the channel to something other than the infomercial loudly proclaiming the merits of an instant pasta cooker. His brain churns slowly, trying to process the last few days—except it’s only been hours here. At least Sam seems to have gotten his wish. A few minutes later, Dean bursts into the room.

“Cas?” he demands, crossing quickly to the bed. His hands frame Cas’ face as Dean studies the ex-angel’s eyes, appraising him for further injury.

“I’m fine, Dean. Sam went to get food. Are you…? Do you…remember?”

Dean sits heavily onto the edge of the mattress, his back to Cas and his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, reaching behind him to take Cas’ hand. He breathes out heavily, then turns to Cas and huffs out a bitter laugh. “Bastard left me a note.” From his jacket pocket, he draws out a folded piece of paper and hands it to Cas.

“‘Got the baddie out of the way. Don’t say I never did anything for ya,’” Cas reads, his vision swimming over the scrawled letters. He fights the urge not to vomit or fall back to sleep. He allows himself a slow blink instead. “Gabriel could have at least fixed my head, too. And Sam’s leg.”

“Like I said: bastard.” Dean pauses, and the silence is heavy with thought. “Sam doesn’t remember.”

“I know. That’s…good, isn’t it?”

“It’s what he wanted. I can’t deny him that. Still, that life. Him and Jess and the kids. And Mom and Dad, and us…” Dean scrubs a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry we can’t have that, that you have to remember it.” Cas wishes there was something he could other than offer hollow platitudes and the comforting grip of his hand.

“Nah, Cas. I’m ok. I figured out a long time ago I could never have that life. But seeing that? I dunno.”

Cas knows the hunter has more to say, and so he waits while Dean gathers his thoughts and courage. He sits up a bit straighter in the bed and lets his thumb trace small circles on the back of Dean’s hand. Dean studies their fingers, carefully avoiding Cas’ eyes.

“Christ, when Yellow Eyes possessed my dad, do you know how I knew it wasn’t really him?” Dean lifts his head and Cas can see the barest hint of a tremble in the man’s lips. “He said he was proud of me. Fuck, I’ve spent my whole life believing that shit: that I’m poison, that I break everything, that I’ve failed everyone I love. And there’s a part of me that _knows_ it was always just my dad’s bullshit, that my dad changed after Mom died. But knowing it…”

“…is not the same as feeling or believing it,” Cas finishes softly.

“Yeah. But seeing him and Mom, knowing that maybe things weren’t perfect but they weren’t a total fucking mess either…I dunno. At least I know now that maybe there was a chance I wouldn’t have let him down.”

“I don’t think you did, or would have, Dean. In this world or any other.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean chokes out weakly. He shakes his head as if to distance himself from the conversation and the emotions etched on his face. “Hey, uh, so how’re you holding up? I mean, seeing Claire and us like that? I can’t give you that life, and I know you said it was hard to let it go—”

“I know,” Cas cuts him off. “I knew that when I chose to fall for you, when I bound my fate to you and your brother and humanity years ago.” Cas grimaces at the pain it takes to speak; his tongue feels thick and heavy. “But I couldn’t choose a world that does such a disservice to the sacrifices and contributions of people like Jimmy or Amelia or Lisa. And I don’t think I deserve the easy love I had there from Claire, or even Ben, not after all that I have done. What little love I have, I have earned, and even then I’m not sure I have done that.”

Dean smiles sadly. “I told Gabriel the same, more or less.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Just looked pissed and snapped me back into the Impala about two hours later than I remember.” Dean’s eyes travel towards his rolled sleeve where Cas’ mark peeks out. “Thanks, Cas.”

Dean doesn’t need to say anymore; Cas knows what he means.

 

**

 

“What’s gotten into you two?” Claire asks from the folds of Cas’ shirt. Once they were back in the bunker, Dean had greeted Claire in a massive bear hug, which Cas had copied as soon as the girl was free.

“We missed you,” Cas confesses as he releases her.

“I’m gonna call Ben once we get unpacked,” Dean mutters with a nod to Cas. Claire follows the unspoken exchange.

“Guys, you were only gone for a night. What gives?”

“They’ve been like this all day,” Sam grouses, but he offers Claire a conspiratorial half-grin as he does.

“What, did you think I was going to burn the place down or run away?” Claire teases. “Like I’d piss off my meal tickets.”

Normally, the sarcastic barb would earn her a reply in kind from Dean, but the hunter just catches Cas’ eye, and he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. Now, Claire’s words are in jest, but only a year ago they may have held too much truth.

Cas remembers Claire’s third day of school, when he’d received a call from the school saying Claire had skipped. He and Dean had eventually tracked her to the bus station, where they found her sitting on the bench, staring at the ticket.

_“Claire?” Cas says, approaching cautiously._

_“Hey, Cas.” She doesn’t look up._

_Cas looks back to Dean for help. He has no idea what to say to the girl. Dean senses his unease and approaches the bench. Claire looks up finally, and Dean gestures with his hands, silently asking if he can sit. Claire moves her bag out of the way without a word. Cas just stands before them awkwardly._

_“You taking off?” Dean asks bluntly._

_“Dunno. You dragging me back?” Claire challenges._

_“Nope.” Dean settles back against the bench, hands in his jacket pockets. Cas marvels at his calm. Claire eyes him shrewdly, then turns her attention on Cas._

_“Then why are you here?”_

_“Make sure you have everything you need,” Dean says easily. “Claire, we can’t make you stay, but Cas ‘n I sure as hell aren’t gonna let you take off without knowing you’re ok.”_

_“And that you know you can always come back,” Cas adds, though the thought of her leaving is like a lead weight in his stomach. “Claire, why are you leaving? Is it something we did?”_

_“No,” Claire says shortly._

_Dean just listens and nods. “Being new to a school sucks, huh.” He says it as fact. Claire nods. “I get it.”_

_“They’re so…normal. I’m…not.”_

_“Nope,” Dean agrees, but offers nothing else, as though this is just the way life is and there’s no point debating it any longer. “Buy you lunch before you go? Diner down the road’s got a decent burger.”_

_Cas can’t believe Dean is going to let her go so easily. Not after everything. He opens his mouth to protest, but as though Dean can read his thoughts, the hunter gives him a small nod._

_Claire makes a show of checking her ticket and the clock above the station door. “Yeah, I got time.”_

_They get up from the bench and Claire gathers her things. As they make their way to the car, Cas sees the bus ticket flutter to the ground. He says nothing. Dean is practically at the car already, but Claire stops Cas and hugs him._

_“I’m sorry,” she mutters._

_“I know. It’s all right.” Cas looks over the girl’s shoulder to see Dean has turned around and is watching the scene fondly. Suddenly, Cas understands, and his heart feels lighter than it has in a long time._

_Claire would stay._

Cas’ reflection is interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. Judging from the everyone else’s expressions, their phones have gone off, too. Cas has a feeling he knows who is contacting them, and he allows himself a smile. As if choreographed, they all pull out their phones to read the mass text: “Hola, bitches. I’m rolling up to the Batcave in twenty. Someone better be there to welcome the Queen.”

 

**

 

“Ok, in what universe does it make _any_ frakking sense that Hermione would end up with Ron? I got nothing against the guy Weasleys—Ron included—but c’mon, Hermione and Ginny make a hell of a lot _more_ sense…”

Cas has been trying to follow the conversation—he knows the _Harry Potter_ universe, thanks to Metatron—but he often finds he has far less connection to characters and stories he hasn’t actually read or watched. And while Charlie once explained “shipping” to him, the whole thing still baffles him. His eyebrows furrow as he tries to imagine Charlie’s Hermione/Ginny relationship; he thinks she might have a point.

“But then what about Harry if Ginny ends up with Hermione?” Sam counters, but Charlie just waves him off.

“He can have Ron, I guess. Or Luna, except she and Neville would be totes adorbs.”

“Really? Harry and Ron?” Claire scrunches up her nose. “I don’t see it.”

“Dudes, it could be worse: there are people who ship Harry and _Malfoy_. But that’s just…ugh…insane troll logic.”

Now Cas is totally lost. “I don’t think any of the trolls in the books had anything to do with Harry and Malfoy,” he comments, realizing once the words leave his mouth that everyone else is probably going to just roll their eyes at his literalness and obliviousness to some pop-culture reference.

Instead, Charlie just looks amused—and then a bit scandalized when she realizes Sam and Claire don’t seem to know her reference either. “DEAN!” she calls.

“WHAT?” he bellows back, his boots echoing in the hall as he returns to the living room with beers and snacks. He enters and is immediately bewildered by the presence of a short (well, short by Winchester standards) redhead with her hands on her hips glaring accusingly at him.

“I just said the words ‘insane troll logic’ and _none of them_ knew what I was talking about. You better tell me that you do, mister.”

“…uh…I dunno. Sammy, we come across any trolls?”

Charlie punches his arm, and luckily he doesn’t drop any of the food or drink. “No, not real trolls! Wait, are there real trolls?”

Sam and Dean both shrug. Cas supplies, “I believe they were killed off around the same time as the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

“Huh,” Sam adds, contemplatively. Cas suspects that later Sam will start going through the lore books to research this.

“Whatever,” Charlie shakes her head, turning back to Dean. “C’mon, man, you’re my go-to guy here on this stuff. ‘Insane troll logic?’ ‘The plural of Apocalypse?’ Hellmouths? Yellow Crayon Speeches? ‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it?’ Or, I mean, you of all people _have_ to know this one: ‘It’s a ritual sacrifice. With pie?’”

Cas is relieved that Dean looks just as confused as he feels. The hunter’s eyes narrow and flick back and forth, perplexed. “Charlie, no offense, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“ _You’ve never seen Buffy?!?_” The slightly scandalized look she was wearing before is full-blown now. Cas notices that Claire and Sam are snickering at how cowed the fearsome Dean Winchester is by Charlie’s glare. “I expect this from them,” she says with jerk of her thumb, and Sam and Claire both give an indignant ‘Hey!’, “but not from you, Dean.”

Dean finally grins, though, once he realizes this is all about TV; this is familiar ground for him. “Oh, yeah, saw a few episodes here and there back in the day, but you know, we were always on the move, so... Anyway, yeah, hot chick who kills vampires—cool and all, but they kill ‘em totally wrong.”

“Sooooo not the point. The show’s awesome, especially the last season even though it gets mega-dreary at times. We’re marathoning it next time I’m here. Like seriously, this shit should be required viewing for you guys.”

“Deal,” Dean agrees, making his way over to the couch, unceremoniously dumping the food on the coffee table and distributing the beers before plopping down next to Cas so their knees and shoulders are touching. Claire grabs the TV remote and the unresolved debate from dinner about what they should watch tonight resumes.

Dean takes Cas’ hand and they lock eyes.

_Yes, this is our life. It’s a good life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that it's nearly impossible to have Charlie be such an uber-nerd without doing some 4th wall breaking / Felicia Day meta-madness (especially since it's canon, thanks to the Ghostfacers back in season 1, that Buffy does exist in this world...so I'm gonna assume the rest of the Whedon oeuvre does, too). And I know that maybe it's a bit much to have two such instances in one fic (one in Chaper 6 and one in Chapter 7), but I wanted to show that no matter what reality they're in, Charlie is still Charlie.
> 
> Plus, it's SPN -- meta-madness is just another day in the life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!


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